


The Quarter Quell

by beepbeepboopboop



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, District 13 (Hunger Games), District 6 (Hunger Games), Gen, Hunger Games, Original Character(s), Quarter Quell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:37:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beepbeepboopboop/pseuds/beepbeepboopboop
Summary: It is 75th Hunger Games, but this is no ordinary Games; it's a Quarter Quell. Instead of two tributes being reaped from each District, four will be. Double the amount of tributes, double the amount of deaths.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on this! The plot is that I switched the quarter quell ideas, so on the 50th hunger games the tributes were reaped from the victors, and on the 75th (what I’m writing about) double the amount of tributes were reaped. I hope you enjoy 😊

I step out of my small twin bed, careful not to wake Bridget, who’s sleeping cuddled up against a pillow. No else is awake yet. The sun has just begun to rise, peaking over mountains and trees.

Quietly I leave the bedroom and head to the bathroom. I brush out my golden blonde hair and fashion it into a side braid. I find my prettiest dress, not there’s much competition as I only have one dress, and pull it over my head. The dress itself comes down to my knees and is a muted grayish blue with dark gray buttons down the back. It has a sash around the waist which I tie in a bow at the back. I still don’t understand the point of getting dressed up for the Reaping, but everyone else apparently does, so I go along with it.

The Reaping happens once a year, to decide who will be participating in the Hunger Games.

Seventy-four years ago, there were thirteen districts and, at the center of it all, was the Capitol. This was called Panem. The Capitol ruled over all the districts, but they got fed up with the Capitol, so, they rebelled. The Capitol defeated twelve districts, and destroyed the thirteenth.

To remind the districts of the Capitol’s power over us and to punish us for the rebellion of our ancestors, every year, one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen were selected from each of the twelve remaining districts of Panem as tributes. They train for a week and then are sent into an outdoor arena to fight to the death, all while the entire country watches. This is called the Hunger Games. It’s the Capitol’s way of making sure we know who’s in charge, and who’s going to stay in charge.

This is year is especially unique—it’s a Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years the Capitol holds a Quarter Quell edition of the Hunger Games. Quells mark the anniversaries of the districts’ defeat, to celebrate that, the Quell games always include some sort of bloody twist.

In the first Quell, instead of a random Reaping, the citizens of the districts would vote on which children would fight in the Games. In the second Quell, the tributes were reaped from the already existing pool of victors.

This time, four tributes will be reaped from each district, as a reminder that, during the rebellion, for every dead Capitol citizen, there were two dead rebels.

This year I’ve put my name in the Reaping fifteen times. I entered my name in once, because I had to, and four times for the tesserae. The tesserae is a form of voluntary food rationing, offered by the Capitol to people in the districts. If a family is struggling for food, children between the ages of twelve and eighteen—those eligible to participate in the Hunger Games—can sign up for tesserae.

Because I’m fourteen now, every time I put my name into the Reaping it counts as three times. When I was twelve, every time I entered my name it counted as one, when I was thirteen, it counted as two, and so on and so on until I’m eighteen, where my name in once will count as seven times. I’m the only person in my family eligible for the Reaping, so I have to sign up four times for the tesserae every year. Once for myself, once for my mother, and once for each of my little sisters, who won’t be old enough for the Games several years, as Bridget is only three and Macy is an infant.

My father left us along time ago. I don’t miss him, or even remember anything about him. I’m glad he’s gone. He’s only one less person I have enter my name into the Reaping for.

...

We all head to the town square at noon for the Reaping. Even if you aren’t eligible for the Reaping, attendance is mandatory. A Peacekeeper—guards sent from the Capitol to watch over the districts and keep them in line— pricks my finger and presses it onto a slip of paper, my bloody fingerprint a soft red against the harsh white paper. They’ll copy this fifteen times and each one of those bloody papers has a chance of being reaped.

I take my place among the other fourteen year olds. The eighteen year olds stand closest to the stage and the twelve year olds at the very back. I suppose we do it like this since the oldest kids have a bigger chance of being reaped, or perhaps it’s just tradition. The boys and girls stand apart, a pathway between them for the chosen tributes to walk up.

I find my mother and sisters amidst the watching crowd. Bridget waves at me and I wave back.

Paris Fallow, a Capitol citizen who is District Six’s escort for the Hunger Games, bounds onto the stage. Every year he shows up with an even more crazy style than the last year. Blue is always a color with him, as his skin has been permanently dyed a pale blue. This year, he’s chosen orange to go with his blue. He has a blue and orange polkadot wig. His suit is half orange and half blue with absurd frills along the sleeves of his pants and shirt. His nails, including his toenails, are insanely long with a checkered blue and orange pattern on them. I don’t even want to look at his face, the makeup is so ridiculous. He’s done his mascara in a way that alternates between orange and blue on each two inch eyelash, dark orange blush stands out against his baby blue skin, one eyebrow is orange and the other is blue and his lips are striped with blue and orange. To top all that off, he’s wearing transparent high heals that make him look as if he floating. The only way I could tell he wasn’t, was the click of the shoes on top of the giant, silvery, metal stage.

Too much blue in my opinion.

“Happy Hunger Games, District Six!” Paris says in such a happy voice it makes me sick.

“And not just any Hunger Games,” he adds “It’s the Quarter Quell!” He pauses for applause, we all clap, of course, the Peacekeepers are standing right there, ready to take anyone who hints at rebellion to the stocks. Paris beams at our applause and takes a quick bow.

“For this year’s Games, four tributes will be reaped from each district, instead of the usual two,” Paris tells us, like we don’t already know, like it’s not been haunting us for the past four months, like we should be happy that double the amount of kids are gonna die. Paris steps aside and the mayor takes over the stage. She gives a lengthy speech about how the Hunger games came to be, starting at the very beginning. She tells us the same Capitol propaganda every year, how once there was a place called North America and how it was destroyed by natural disasters, eventually, the country of Panem rose up to take its place. The Capitol was so perfect and good but then the evil and stupid Districts rebelled and the Hunger Games is all our fault, blah, blah, blah.

When she’s done Paris walks—or skips, really— back to the middle of the stage

“Now the fun can really begin!” Paris squeaks with a bubbly smile.

Two large glass bowls, one full of boys’ names and one of girls’, slide into place in front him. He, as always, goes to the boys’ bowl first. He puts his hand into the bowl and pauses over one unlucky paper.

“District Six’s first Tribute for the Quarter Quell is...” He pauses for effect, annoyingly keeping us in suspense.

“Jack Rallben,” I look around the crowd for whoever it is. No one has stepped out yet, but several people are looking at a pale little boy standing at the very back. that makes him twelve I suppose. One boy prods him in the back, pushing him to the stage. He walks shakily up the aisle, not even attempting to control his sobs. I have to fight back my own tears. The Reaping is always horrid, but it is extra awful when a twelve year old is reaped.

“Our first trib—” Paris begins, but before he can finish his sentence another voice calls out;

“I volunteer as tribute,”

At the Reaping, if someone besides you is reaped, you can volunteer to fight in the Games. This is extremely common in Districts One, Two and Four. The children in those districts train for years—which is technically illegal, but no one cares— and when they are eighteen, volunteer. These Districts, which are often called Career Districts by the rest of the districts, almost always win the games. 

District Six hardly ever has volunteers, the Games are not an honor to fight in here. Most of us are starving and poor; not fit to fight at all.

But here a volunteer is. 

The male who walks up to the stage is tall and muscled. I assume he’s eighteen. I’ve seen him around, but I don’t know him. He has shoulder length golden dreadlocks and dark brown skin. I see Jack Rallben’s pale face regain its color. Someone, I assume it’s his brother, breathes a sigh of relief and runs up to regain him from the stage.

The volunteer is introduced as Raymon Dalton and he steps to the side to wait for the rest of the tributes names to be reaped.

Paris steps over to the girls’ bowl to pick a name.

“Sally Olsen.” I hardly have time to search the crowd for a scared face of a little girl before a voice calls out, for the second time today,

“I volunteer as tribute,” A girl with short, curly brown hair and tawny skin walks to the stage. 

Maya Roosevelt.

Maya is eighteen, but as the mayor’s daughter she doesn’t have to work like the rest of us. She’s not snobbish, like you might expect, she’s the opposite actually. She’s incredibly kind to everyone. Once a week she’ll walk around the town square to hand out food and other supplies most people can’t afford an enough of. She's never shown any interest in volunteering for the Games before now. I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’d volunteer for the Hunger Games.

“Well, this hasn’t happened in a while!” Paris jokes, but I can tell he’s trying hard to control his excitement. Nothing interesting ever happens in District Six. We haven’t had a volunteer in the past six years, and we haven’t had a victor in the past sixteen, and now two strong, gorgeous eighteen year olds volunteer. The Capitol will be all over them. This is an extremely special year.

Paris picks out the next male tribute, dramatically unfolds the paper and calls out

“Jacob Bellwood.” No one volunteers this time. A boy who looks about fifteen with pale skin and red hair walks up nervously to the stage. He stands to the side with the other tributes. I can tell he’s trying not to cry.

“And now for the last tribute,” he chirps in his absurd singsong voice. He waves his bejeweled hand over the large glass bowl that contains the name of every twelve to eighteen year old female—excluding Maya Roosevelt—in District Six before dropping it in and picking a random name. He plucks it out of the bowl with a flourish. He unfolds the slip of paper so slowly and dramatically I want to run to up the stage, rip the paper out of his hand and read it myself. When he is finally done with his ridiculous show he loudly clears his throat and reads the name.

“Bella Walnut.”


	2. The Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the food, showers, clothes--it's more than Bella Walnut had ever dreamed of, and almost enough to make her forget her upcoming death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here's your chapter.

I heard him wrong. It couldn’t be me. No. There is another Bella Walnut. He mispronounced the name.

“Bella Walnut,” he repeats in a louder voice. No one else is walking up the stage. Maybe someone else will volunteer like Maya. Why is one else walking up to the stage?

I have no choice but to step out onto the walkway between the girls and boys.My head is spinning. Everything seems fuzzy.

“That’s it, dear, come on up,” Paris encourages. I try, but neither my body or my mind wants to. Two Peacekeepers come up one either side of me and basically carry me to the stage. They’re surprisingly gentle. One of them even gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before they return to their posts.

I cling to Paris’ arm once they leave. I don’t trust my legs to hold me.

“Our last tribute of the day!” He says, trying to sound enthusiastic while also attempting to shake me off his arm.

“Bella Walnut, fourteen years old!” He steps aside for the mayor to take over and awkwardly brushes me off his shoulder. I just stand there. My stomach feels like it does when you throw up. I think I might.

While I attempt to keep myself standing and the contents of my stomach in place, the mayor has us all shake hands with each other. Paris finishes up the Reaping with a“Happy Hunger Games!” and, to top it all off, I finally lose control of my stomach. 

I don’t stay conscious for much longer.

...

When I awake again I’m in the Justice Building. I’m not wearing my blue dress, instead I’m in a white hospital gown. Two Peacekeepers are standing watch over me. When they see I’ve woken they leave the room and my mother comes in. I didn’t know if she would. I’m glad she did though, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten to say goodbye to Macy and Bridget. I know she won’t miss me, other than the fact that I won’t be there to take care of the girls and sign up for tessera. That’s all the better in my opinion. It’ll be easier to die if no one cares about me. 

Bridget will miss me the most, and I’ll miss her the most. She turns four in two months. I’m going to miss her birthday. Macy won’t even remember me, only be told stories, if my mother cares that much.

When our ten minutes together is over I say goodbye to my mother, we hug and I kiss Macy and Bridget on their little foreheads. I’ve accepted that this will be the last time I’ll ever see them, I might as well make the most of it.

No else comes to visit, other than to bring me my freshly cleaned and dried clothes, free of puke. I throw it on and spend the rest of my time sitting on the small couch until Paris comes to retrieve me.

I am driven to a train station. Cameras are everywhere. I’ll have to work hard to make up for my first impression on everyone. No one would want to sponsor me after I threw up and fainted, so unless I get an amazing training score or a brilliant stylist, I won’t be getting any gifts in the arena.

I’ve seen the outside of trains plenty of times, I’ve even made the parts for them, but I am in no way prepared for the inside. Huge, gorgeous, incredible, stunning. The first thing I see when I walk on is a spacious table with steaming plates of, well, everything. Salads and soups, crackers, chips and dips, stuffed mushrooms, peppers and squash, muffins, breadsticks, platters of berries and sliced fruit and many more foods I have yet to discover the name of. And the _drinks_. Thick drinks, bubbly drinks, alcoholic drinks—which, surprisingly, they let me drink—brightly colored drinks and black ones, sweet ones, salty ones, hot drinks, cold drinks, weird gooey ones. 

People—from the way they act, I assume servants—line the walls. They don’t speak, just silently stand there, not moving. 

Four people are already seating around the table, waiting, I assume, for us. I recognize them as District Six’s previous victors, which makes them our mentors.I don’t wait for permission to join them, I make a beeline straight to the table and start eating. Only when I’ve drunk an entire bowl of soup and eaten three rolls and half a salad do I realize I should be using the elegant silverware that’s been laid out in front of me instead of my hands. We never really used much tableware besides plates and cups at home, it’s nothing more than extra cost.

I force myself to slow down my eating, remembering the way my breakfast ended up early today. I’m not used to even a eighth of this much food, I’m not sure how well my stomach will react.

After I’ve satisfied my appetite I look around the table at everyone else for the first time. Paris shoots me a disapproving look, clearly upset with my eating habits. I can tell he’s been waiting for me to look at him to express his annoyance.I give him a wide smile, dip my finger into a bowl of soup and lick them off, purely to spite him. His glare is almost as satisfying as the soup. I turn to take a good look at Jacob Bellwood for the first time.

He’s short—shorter than me at least—with pale skin and wide, scared, blue eyes. He’s not horribly thin, but I assume that’s just the way he’s built, not because he’s had enough food to eat. He—like me— is quite taken with the food, and not so obsessed with the cutlery.

Raymon is surprisingly happy, even though he’s heading to his death. I suppose he wanted this, but he seems so genuinely kind, joking with our mentors and even smiling at our waiters. Paris seems to be quite smitten with him as well. I think it’s the fact that he has the decency to use a fork and wipe his hands on a napkin rather than licking them, which Paris must find extremely attractive, as Raymon and Maya are getting the most attention from him. Maya, being the mayor’s daughter and all, have the best manners of us tributes, she lifts a spoon full of soup to her lips while the rest of us simply drink it from the bowl.

I shift my gaze to our mentors. We have four still living—two female victors, Azela and Hene, and two male victors, Challe and Bight,—, though only two of them are in a state to mentor us. The two that aren’t are my favorites anyway. They won their games simply by hiding until they were all over. The other two were... bloodier. Somehow Hene and Bight still ended up more traumatized, coping with their PTSD with morphling, a common drug in District Six.Bralle and Azela do seem nice, joking around with each other, asking questions, complimenting Paris, but that isn’t enough to make me forget how many people’s throats they’ve ripped out.

I remember watching a rerun of Azela’s games a while back, I doubt I’ll ever be able to escape the image of her smearing the brains of a dead tribute across her face.

Thinking of this doesn’t exactly expand my appetite much. I push my plate away from me and lean back against my chair.

“They’ll be bringing out the main course soon!”I hear from Paris in the midst of all his chatter. “And just wait till you try the carrot sunflower pie!”

“More food?” I croak, I stare at the food in front of us, all of it must of taken days of nonstop work to make and there’s _more_?

“Of course!” Paris says in disbelief, “You didn’t think _this_ ,” he gestures to huge table with endless delicacies, “could possibly be the entire meal? This is just the appetizer! The meal has hardly begun!” He stares at me in such horror I almost feel embarrassed. Paris bladders on about the different courses that any proper meal should have and the importance of all of them.

In a few minutes, just like Paris said, our quiet waiters bring out the main course. All new drinks and dishes. I vow not to eat any more, my stomach has nearly reached it breaking point, but that sunflower carrot pie just looks too delicious. I try to only eat a couple bites, remembering there’s even more courses to come, but god, it’s all so good. 

When they finally bring out the desserts, I’m about to explode. Chocolates and cakes, pies and puddings and much, much more. Fighting to keep down everything else, I eat more. I especially enjoy a cold, thick, creamy dish. Paris informs me that is called ‘ice cream’. There is such a wide variety of flavors of this ice cream I could never eat them all in a lifetime. I try all the flavors I can possibly fit in to my poor belly, before I finally give up eating. I don’t know how Paris does it. 

When the meal ends a servant with dark curly hair leads me out of the dining hall. He still doesn’t speak, even when I say hello, although he smiles and nods at me.

He leads to my room, a gorgeous en suite with a king size bed with fancy silk sheets and big fluffy pillows, and directs me to the bathroom.

It’s huge. I didn’t know it was possible to make a toilet fancy, but they’ve managed it. The shower is bigger than my entire bathroom at home and the sink is made of what looks to be diamonds.

I strip off my clothes and toss them aside. There’s a digital panel beside the shower with an endless array of buttons. I look around for an instruction manual. I am not that lucky. I stare at the screen. Out of the buttons they could simply not be bothered to put in a help one.I press a rainbow button, and it leads me to another page of buttons, even more than the first. These buttons are all colors. I pick a pretty pale blue and select the ‘done’ button. It takes me back to the original page. I stare hopelessly at all the buttons, do I have to press them _all_? I try the temperature one, and pick a button on the warmer scale. I pick out a pressure and scent—citrus vanilla—and, honestly, it becomes quite fun. Once I’ve done the basics— pressure, temperature, scent, color, bubbles, etc—I’m allowed to press start. Blue water pours from the shower head—only the shower head covers the entire tub. I catch a whiff of citrus, the most beautiful mix of fruit and vanilla. I step into the hot water and let it flow over my body. Pink bubbles of all sizes float down around me. Another screen pops out of the shower wall in front of me. This one is full of soap options. I pick a chocolate scented soap in the shape of a lemon, and two seconds later, it pops out of the wall. I wash my body and set it back on the little ledge and it disappears into the wall. The screen I used to pick out my soap pops out again, this time with shampoo options, and once I’m done, conditioner options show up. Others follow, I don’t even know what most of them are, but I do my best.

When I step out of the shower I am greeted by warm air, like I’m inside a giant hair dryer. The air ripples through my hair, parting it down the middle. I’m completely dry in less than ten seconds.

I turn the screen above the sink, wondering what miracles it will preform for me. I touch the screen and it turns on immediately. Flavor options appear. I choose peppermint.

Something pops out of the wall. It’s in the shape of a mouth. I pick it up and wonder what to do with it. It’s a hard texture and it smells minty. I look back up at the screen. It’s not helping, all it’s done is turn into a mirror.

“Oh, I’m sure all these poor children from the starving districts will know exactly what to do with this,” I mutter under my breath sarcastically.

It’s the shape of a mouth. They had me pick a flavor. The only logical place it could go would be my mouth.

As soon as I place it in my mouth it molds itself to fit around my teeth.

It softens quickly, dissolving and leaving a minty aftertaste upon my tongue. In a couple seconds, it’s completely gone. 

I look up into the mirror. My teeth are dazzlingly white. They even straightened some.

I have nothing left to do in the bathroom, so I leave and open the door to the dressing room.

I’m overwhelmed by the amount of clothes, arranged by color, style and fabric. There is more options for underwear than all the clothes I’ve ever had in my life.

I pick out a light gray, satin nightgown and matching slippers. It’s incredibly comfortable.

I step back out into the bedroom, tired from the days events and ready to sleep.

I pull myself into the giant bed. The mattress molds itself around my body, supporting certain areas, and letting other sink down into the soft, downy bed.

The pillows are soft and huge—some bigger than I am.

On one of the two side tables is a remote. I press the ‘on’ button, and the entire wall in front of me turns to show the roof of the training center. The quiet sound of wind appears as well.

I push the ‘change’ button and it switches to a beachside view, the pleasant noise of crowing seagulls and gentle waves coming from all around me.

I imagine my dead body floating in the clear, blue water; a knife in my back, waves carrying me away until my carcass is collected and returned to my family in a coffin.

That beach could very well be the arena I’ll be thrown into, my deathbed, my coffin.

I turn off the wall, preferring the dark silence.

At last, I can sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks you for reading! next week you'll get your third chapter :)


	3. The Tribute Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Before you read I have an important update:  
> I am switching to posting every two weeks (still on Tuesday) instead of every one. I apologize but I want you guys to get the best chapter and me not to feel rushed, and that just isn't possible if I'm updating once a week.

I wake up early, as I always did in Six. I know I’m allowed sleep in longer, but I’m not tired. I take a shower, this time scented bubblegum. I don’t bother with the teeth cleaning thing— my teeth look just as white as they did last night.

I braid my hair up into the same side braid I wore to the reaping.

I look through the clothes in the dressing room, really interested in them today. Last night I was too tired to appreciate the luxury.

I almost feel bad, knowing how everything here was made. By the starving workers—slaves, really— in the districts. Then I remember how I’m heading to my death, and I spend the next hour trying on clothes.

Eventually I settle on a pair of high waisted black velvet pants and a colorful cotton blouse which I tuck into my pants.

I leave my room and head to breakfast. Everyone else is already there, sitting around the same table from yesterday, but with entirely different foods.

I sit down in the only remaining chair, next to Maya, facing Azela.

“Hello!” Maya says brightly, “Try this,”

She hands me a mug full of a dark brown liquid

“It’s called hot chocolate and it’s _amazing_ ,”

It is.

Aside from the hot chocolate, I have a few jam biscuits and slices of fruit, but other than that, not much, as I’m still full from last night’s dinner.

“It’s a big, big day!” Paris says, “The tribute parade!”

I set down the orange slice I’ve been sucking on. The tribute parade.

“Once we reach the Capitol you’ll meet your stylists and they’ll fix you up. Maya, Raymon, you have Six’s usually stylists, Jacob and Bella, you’ll have all new stylists!” Paris prattles on about all the possibilities of what they might do to us. We'll be dressed in a style that reflect our district, of course. Everyone, every year, always dressed like their district. 

Jacob looks at our mentors. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Make them like you.” Azela responds. She doesn’t say anything else. Jacob stirs his oatmeal around in his bowl, clearly wondering how he is supposed to gain the Capitol's affection.

I wonder too. I’m not immensely talented or pretty by the Capitol’s standards. My stylists have a lot of work to do.

After about ten more minutes of breakfast, Paris calls us all out to watch the other districts’ reaping.

It’s impossible to memorize all the tributes names, there’s just so many of them. I do note some, particularly the dangerous looking ones.

Elven has a girl who volunteers for her sister. The biggest, and probably strongest, tribute is a girl from Four. There’s a girl in Two who fought another girl to volunteer, even though she could’ve simply waited until the next girl tribute’s name was called. In Five a twelve year old boy who can't be more than 80 pounds is reaped. _I can't help thinking he'll be the first cannon._

Many people cry, but somehow I’m the only one to throw up.

Just after we’ve finished watching through the reaping, we reach the Capitol.

Thousands of people are crowded around the train, clamoring for a glimpse of us, all with brightly colored hair or skin, implanted whiskers—which seem to be all the rage now—,or at least one surgery. I open a window and stick my head out, plastering on the happiest fake smile I could muster. I wave and blow kisses to the crowd and am greeted in return with flowers of all sorts.

Jacob stands back at first, but decides to join me at the window when he sees how well the crowd is reacting to my kisses.

We exit the train, and I meet my team. Beretta, Nero and Claud. Beretta’s plump with bright green curly hair and freckles. Nero is insanely thin with spiky blue hair piled on his head and polka dots over is hands and legs. Claud has fluffy orange hair and pale purple skin. They’re here to prepare me for my stylist, who I have yet to meet. It isn’t fun.

First, they being by stripping me of my clothes and examining my body.

“God, what do they feed you in the districts,” Nero sighs, pressing on my very visible ribs. _Nothing,_ I stop myself from responding.

They don’t like my hair apparently, as their next move is to wax my entire body, minus my head. It’s incredibly painful, but if it gets me sponsors…

After they’ve satisfied themselves, they leave to retire my stylist who’s name I’ve gathered is Puma.

“Hello!” Puma says brightly when she enters. She’s not as surgically altered as many Capitol citizens are. She has dark purple hair with her bangs chopped off at different places and a little makeup sure, but her skin appears to be its original color and nothing drastically changed. She walks around me, touching my body and face, examining every tiny atom of me.

When she’s got a good enough feel for me, she turns to makeup. She doesn’t let me see anything she’s doing, she even makes me close my eyes when she slides my outfit on. When she’s completely done she guides me to a full length mirror to see her handiwork.

Sliver, sliver, sliver. Lipstick, mascara, blush—everything has metallic shine. I’m dressed in a metallic full bodysuit, all the same colors as the trains we make in District Six. Puma’s put sliver highlights in my hair. I raise my hand to my head, hoping beyond hope that they aren’t permanent.

Puma must have seen the look on face, because she assures me everything is temporary.

“They won’t let us do anything that permanently alters the tributes body. In case it gives them an unfair advantage,” she sighs. “It’s fine though. You haven’t even seen the best part!” Her tone brightens at remembering whatever clever thing she’s thought up.

“Which is?” I ask.

“Oh, you’ll see,” she smiles.

“Now we can’t be late to the parade,” She herds me out to where all the other tributes are waiting for the parade to start. I’m not the last or the first.

I stand awkwardly with my horse, petting him and feeding him sugar cubes. Other tributes aren’t so keen on shutting up and staying with their horses. The monstrous girl from Four waves at me. I ignore her, hoping she’ll leave me alone. It doesn’t work. She walks over to me and swings her arm over my shoulder like we’ve known each other for years. She doesn’t bother to keep her blonde hair from falling in front of my eyes.

“Hi.” I mumble.

“Cool outfit. Who’s your stylist?” She asks, grinning.

“Uh, Puma. She’s new.” I reply, brushing her hair out of my face. “Yours?”

“Same guy as always. I just hope I look this good in the arena,” she laughs. She’s been dressed in a loosely knitted net, which is tied around her waist. Her chest is bare except for a necklace made of seashells. Her muscles look even bigger in person. She could snap my neck without even trying. The thought of it horrifies me.

Then Jacob appears. Thank god I’m not stuck with the girl from Four anymore. A choked “Hi,” is all I can manage for Jacob. I turn back to my horse.

Jacob talks to the girl from Four a little, and then she leaves to meet up with the other tributes.

Jacob is wearing an outfit very similar to mine. He’s had sliver highlights put in his hair as well.

Soon, everyone arranges themselves with their partner on their chariot. I step onto my chariot far before anyone else. Thoughts of not getting on chariot on time or falling off have been playing in my mind far too much for me to let them become reality.

 _We will not puke again._ I tell myself firmly. Once was enough.

Jacob stands next to me and smiles quickly at me. I almost feel jealous of how much better he looks than me. There’s no sign of nervousness in him, whereas I’m doing everything in my power to keep myself from falling over.

The Capitol anthem begins to play, signaling the tribute parade has begun. Huge metal gates open and the twenty-two tributes ride out before it’s our turn.

Jacob grips my hand tightly in his own. I’m glad he did, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to reach for his. Our horses trot out through the metal gates. Cameras flash, flowers are thrown, kisses blown. The crowd is screaming and shouting. Jacob is waving and smiling and so am I. It’s ridiculous I don’t realize I’m invisible until I glance at Jacob.

His suit is gently flashing from visible to invisible. Of course. Transportation. District Six. Hovercrafts. So this is what Puma was so excited about.

Jacob catches a daisy that someone throws. He smiles at me and hands it to me. I smile back and take it. He knows how to play a crowd.

I almost wish I could see all the other tributes, but servants escort us to our training center quarters.

It’s even more extravagant than the train. Our mentors are waiting for us at table filled with food.

Azela smiles at us and gestures to the table. “You can sit down.” I realize I’m just standing in front of the table, not moving. I sit down and begin to eat. It’s been a long day of makeup and nerves and I’m _hungry._ Maya and Raymon join us less than a few minutes later.

“So,” Jacob says, “how was I?”

“You did great. And so did your stylists.” Azela responds. “We’ll watch the tribute parade after supper. See what your competition is.”

An hour later, we go to watch the tribute parade together. District One is beautiful, clad in diamonds and rubies and almost any jewel you could think of. District Nine is wonderful, wearing pattern that looks as if it’s weaves out of grain, sparkling and golden. District Twelve, though, is one of the most noticeable ones. They’re dressed in a plain black suit—until it lights on fire. At first I think they are actually burning, but it must only be a synthetic flame.

“Ok,” Azela says, turning off the screen, “you all did well. Unfortunately you weren’t the only ones. We’ll talk strategy more tomorrow, after your training. My advice for tonight is either be as impressive as you possibly can be to get the Careers to ally with you, or stay under their radar so you don’t become their first target.”

I go to bed first. The others talk for a bit, but I’m so, so tired. I feel as if I’ve been awake for weeks.

I strip off my outfit and rub off as much makeup as I can. I don’t bother showering. I collapse into the silk sheets of my bed and, within seconds, fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, please leave kudos or a comment, it is really appreciated :)


	4. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's your new chapter! i hope you enjoy :)

I wake up panicking. Dream after dream of bloody deaths. I swear I can still feel the daggers in my stomach.

I take in a deep breath and let it out. _You’re okay,_ I tell myself over and over. Even though I’m not. My hands are shaking despite my efforts to keep them steady. I guess this is normal behavior for someone sentenced to death. I let myself lay in bed for ten more minutes to compose myself.

I peel off my clothes, which have stuck to me with my own sweat, and pull on the standard training outfit, since I have no choice but to wear it. It’s black, red and gray with a large _six_ across the back.

I wash my face, but I don’t shower this time.

Everyone is at the table already, but they don’t look as if they’ve been there a long time.

“Hi,” I say, sliding into my seat next to Raymon.

“Hello,” he says, “ Challe was just giving us a bit of advice before training.” He looks over at her, prompting her to continue whatever she was saying.

“Try all the stations,” he says, “not just weapons. The biggest mistake you can make is focusing just on weapons. You’ll end up dying of starvation or freezing to death because you can’t make a fire.”

Azela nods in agreement. “Even useless seeming ones like knot tying can be helpful.”

“Today is also an important day to start making allies.” She adds, “Even if the Careers don’t want to side with you, others might. And if you can’t make allies, lie low and don’t give anyone a reason to hate you.”

I don’t eat much, mostly I just think about their advice. Allies, allies, allies. Who would want to be an ally to me, a poor starving girl from District Six?

Less than ten minutes later Paris is jumping up and rushing us all to the door, even though training doesn’t officially start for another half hour.

He leaves us at the elevator, though it took five minutes of Maya reassuring him we’d be fine by ourselves.

We reach the training room with twenty minutes to spare. Surprisingly at least half of the other tributes are there. I guess their Parises wanted them here early too.

Some people talk, but mostly everyone stands in a circle, awkwardly waiting for the stations to open and everyone to arrive. The last people to arrive are Twelve—and they get here with time to spare.

We all wait for a few minutes until Atala arrives. She’s been the overseer of training ever since I can remember.

She reminds us of the no fighting with other tributes rule and then officially lets us begin training. Everyone disperses to different stations. Experts wait at each station to teach us and assistants are there to spar with any tributes that want to. Many go to weapons, either to actually learn or to show off their skills and intimidate other tributes. I leave instead to the fire making station. I spend the next hour there and manage to make several fires from different materials.

I see Maya sparring with an assistant. Jacob is learning how to throw spears. Raymon is at the camouflage station.

I head to the edible plant section and spend another hour there. I keep my eye on the weapons stations and obstacle courses, waiting for the Careers to clear out before moving in.

I approach axe-wielding when I notice it has only a few others tributes there, none of them Careers. The trainer who helps me is young—he can’t be more than thirty. We start out by throwing axes. He positions my arms and shows me how to properly throw. I don’t think I’m bad at all. I even hit the bullseyes several times.

Tired and hungry, I’m thankful when lunchtime comes. All the tributes leave to a room off the gymnasium where lunch is served.The tables are marked by districts, so everyone is allowed to eat with whomever they want. I get my food quickly and sit an empty table, not wanting to join anyone and hoping they’ll come to me instead.

All the Careers sit together. I notice one of them point at me and say something, which causes the other Careers to look over at me, which causes an argument to start.

“Don’t worry, they’re just placing bets.”

I jump and nearly scream. The Careers burst out laughing at that.

It’s a girl from Nine.

“They think you’ll die in the bloodbath. So will I.” She motions to the empty seat next to me. “Is this spot taken?”

“What? Oh, yes. No, sorry, I meant no, it’s not taken. You can sit here.”

She slides into the seat next to me with her tray of food.

“Ivy. District Nine.” The girl says. She’s thin—not natural thin, but the starving kind—with black hair and olive skin. I try to think if I noticed her in training at all. If I did, I don’t remember.

“Bella. District Six.” I reply.

“So,” she says after a moment, “I don’t trust you at all. But I’m clearly not at a distinct advantage.” She lowers her voice and leans in closer to me. “If I run into you during the games I won’t kill you, if you promise the same. I won’t save your life or be your ally or anything like that. But I won’t kill you. If you won’t kill me.”

Oh, she’s clever. I know I’m not the first one to be asked this, or the last. All the underdogs promising not kill her in return for her not killing them. It’s brilliant. I can’t trust her not kill me, of course, but what harm would it do to ask her not to?

I repeat her words, slowly and carefully. “I won’t kill you. If you won’t kill me.”

She leans back and a satisfied smile crosses her face. “You sure?”

I nod. “Yes. I’m sure.” I take a few bites of rice.

“Just curious,” I say, “how many others have you made this deal with?”

She grins at me. “Only four so far.”

“Can I ask who?”

“You, the girl from Three and two of my district partners. But I’ve got two more days and a list.”

“I’m glad I was pathetic enough to make it on your list.”

She laughs

“Well, people to meet, alliances to make.” She stands up and walks away, leaving her empty tray on the table

When training is over I’m exhausted and hungry again. Dinner is just as spectacular as the last time, but this time I hardly have time to pay attention to the food with all the questions and tips and strategy plans to discuss with Azela and Challe.

“What weapons did you train with? Were you good? Was anyone watching?” Azela throws question after question at us, where Challe watches the conversions and speaks hardly at all.

Once Azela’s done asking questions abut what we did and who we met and who looked like a threat and what we were good at and questions, questions, questions. You’d think she was writing a biography about us.

“I worked on axes for a while. And throwing knives after lunch.” I respond. “I definitely wasn’t good enough to be considered a threat.”

“Anything you did that you’d make you seem a threat? Anything at all?” She directs the question at us all.

Raymon shakes his head. “I tried to keep a low profile. I mostly trained with plants and camouflage.”He’s strong and big enough he could’ve gone for different route, trying to be as

“Me too,” Jacob says, “Not that I could be threatening if I tried. Maya, though,” he looks over at her. Like Raymon, she had two options and she went with the opposite one. She worked on weapons, obstacle courses, wrestling, hand-to-hand combat. Anything intimidating and she was on it like a hawk. Part of me wonders how long she’s been training for this, because whatever persona she put up in District Six, you don’t just wake up on day knowing how to throw a spear perfectly. 

She shrugs. “My best chance is with the Careers or someone like that.”

“Now before we get into talking about strategy,” Challe says, changing the subject, “Do you want to be trained separately or together,”

We all look around at each other. 

“Separately.” Maya says, “Definitely.”

Jacob shrugs. “Sure.”

Raymon and I both agree. We aren’t a team. At least three of us are going to die. And we all know we can't trust anyone. Maya trying to team up with the Careers almost feels like a betrayal. I’m slightly annoyed that we only have two mentors between the four of us. The districts with lots of mentors have it so much easier.

After supper Maya and Challe leave to a different room to discuss their battle plan, and Jacob and Azela do the same. Raymon and I are left alone.

To pass the time, I order dish after dish of ice cream. In the middle of a bite I remember

“Why don’t they talk?” I ask.

His mood shifts immediately “Avoxs. They’ve—“ he takes a deep breath, “They’ve had their tongues cut out. As punishment for treason against the Capitol.”

“Oh.”

We don’t talk much after that. I stir my melting ice cream around with my spoon. My appetite is gone, knowing who brought this food out to me and whats been done to them.

An hour later an… _avox_ leads me to Challe. Maya has already left the room.

I sit down in the chair across from him.

“Anything you didn’t share at the table that you’d care to tell me?” He asks me.

“Uh, yes,” I say, “a girl kind of formed an alliance with me. She promised not to kill me if I promised not to kill her.”

“And did you agree?”

I nod. “I know I can’t trust her,” I add.

“Which girl was this?”

“District Nine. The one with the black hair.”

“No harm done there I don’t think.”

I get an hour with him too. I tell him everything I did in training, what others did in training, who sat together at lunch—anything and everything I remembered from training.

He tells me to stay away from the Careers, don’t light a fire unless I’m completely hidden, camouflage myself as much as possible, if there’s trees, sleep in them, practice climbing and obstacle courses in training, and to not trust _anyone._

By the time we reach the end of our hour, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open.

I take a quick shower, since I didn’t this morning, change out of my clothes, and sleep.


	5. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry that I didn't post on Tuesday like usual. I've been struggling with writers block and this chapter isn't very long, I'm sorry. I'm not super proud of this chapter but I didn't want you guys to have to wait any longer. Also read the end notes for some other important information. Thank you!

I’m tired and I’m sick of sitting in this hard, cold, metal chair.

“This sucks.” A girl from Four says.

“You think you have it bad, Alice,” Maya replies, turning around in her chair to face her. “I’ve have to wait nearly six hours.”I don’t want to be reminded of how much longer I have to wait for my turn in training, but it’s nice to know Four’s name.

All of One has already gone. I’ve sat quiet and pretty for that, but I can’t fight the urge to scream for much longer.

A girl from Twelve snorts. “Try being me. I’ve got to wait twelve goddamn hours before it’s my turn.”

...

Jacob walks past me. _Only fifteen more minutes, only fifteen more minutes,_ I remind myself. But somehow these are the hardest,

I remember what Challe said. “Don’t try to impress them. Pretend that it’s a normal training session.”

The judges look bored and aren’t paying any attention to me.Only a few look up when I enter.

There are no trainers, obviously, so I go for something I know the basics of, but can’t do that well.

I gran a small metal bow and arrows to match. I start with the closest target and move on to the farther ones. I only miss the target twice.

...

We all sit down that night when the tv comes on to see our, and everyone else, training scores.

All the tributes will be rated one through twelve, twelve being nearly impossible to achieve and one being insanely bad. I don’t remember ever seeing a one or a twelve, but there’s a first tome for everything.

Raymon gets a seven, a very decent score.Maya achieves a ten, which impresses and shocks all of us. Jacob secures a solid five and a three appears for me. Challe gives me a quick smile before turning back to the screen to watch the other tributes. Most of the Careers get eights, nines or tens, and it varies greatly between everyone else.

Seven, ten, five and three.

…

With all four of us and only two mentors and one escort, someone had to sit out first. Raymon volunteers to go last, Jacob and Maya start with our mentors. Which means I’m with Paris.

“Head up, shoulders back, smile,” Paris reminds me again. “And don't lift your skirt above your ankles,”

He switched out my six and half inch heels for four inch ones when he saw how hopeless I was with them. Thank god.

The dress he put me in is annoying at best, and downright horrible at worst. I’ve tripped over it more time than I can count when I first started. I’ve gotten the hang of it now, but still I miss the suit he had me practice in first.

After two hours I’m relieved of Paris and my session with Challe begins.

We try out all sorts of different angles for me. Vicious doesn’t work, neither does funny, sexy, brooding, crazy, sarcastic, angry…

Eventually we settle on sweet and innocent, but also somewhat mature.

He asks me questions and I answer them. He advises me to mention my sisters, since no one can resist a baby.

…

My stylists don’t wait a second before jumping on me like a hawk. Nonexistent hair is waxed, nails are filed and painted a light pink, makeup that focuses heavily on pale blues and pinks is applied, Claud frets over my apparently too thin lips and adds more lipstick.

“Oh, it’s really such a pity,” Beretta sighs, “that they don’t let us alter the tributes surgically.”

“I know,” Nero agrees, “We could fix everything.”

They appease their sorrows by rubbing lotion over my entire body until I’m sure my skin will fall off. After a few minutes once the feeling of rawness as ceased and my skin returns to its natural color, I’m able to appreciate the impossible softness of it. They slide me into a slip which has padding embedded in it to go over my breasts, hips, stomach—anything my stylists don’t seem curvy enough.

Puma comes in after they’re finished with the “basic” stuff.

She touches up my makeup and dots a little flower at the corners of my eyes. She goes over my pink nails and adds an ombre effect. My hair is braided up in a pretty little twist in the back of my head with blue, yellow and pink flowers intertwined.

She finishes off my outfit with the actual clothes—a pale blue dress that reaches my a little past my knees. I don’t know what fabric could be this soft, but whatever it is, I love it.

The shoes are simple, pale yellow flats that fit comfortably over my now perfect feet. I’m glad I’m not wearing high heels like Paris had me practice in. I wouldn’t have survived.

Overall, I don’t think I look bad.

...

Thousands of people are eagerly waiting in the crowd.

Caesar Flickerman bounds onto stage.

Every year I search for his microphone, and I’ve never found it. I realize I’m not wearing one not either, unless my stylists somehow got it into my shoes.

“Welcome, to the 75th annual Hunger Games!” His voice booms around the giant stadium.

First off is a girl from One—Jem, she’s introduced as. She woos the crowd in her three minute performance before it’s time for the next tribute.

I’m grateful the interviews are so much shorter than the training evaluation. I couldn’t have standed waiting another six hours and I definitely could not have held the crowds attention for that long.

The crowd likes Jacob. He’s funny and confident, but not too confident to be arrogant. The buzzer sounds for him.

And now it’s my turn to act.

Caesar introduces me and I giggle and do a little curtsy.

We talk about my outfit and hair and joke around for a bit, before he turns to the deeper stuff.

“What,” he asks, “is the hardest part about being here?”

Obviously I’m not going to respond with ‘I’m about to fucking die so that sucks’ although it’s tempting.

“My sisters.” I say, “I miss my sisters a lot. “It’s really hard to leave them, but I know that if I make it home I’ll create a better life for them. And that’s all that matters to me.” 

It’s not a lie. I miss them. I want them to have a better life.

Luckily the crowd doesn’t think I’m lying. They ‘awww’ and wipe tears from their eyes.

Caesar nods sympathetically, and our time is up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Important note: there will be no canon characters in this story. I kinda hinted at other canon characters in another chapter (which I am going to update) but I have decided against using canon characters.  
> If you like this please kudos/comment and if you have any advice or constructive criticism please tell me!


	6. The Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys this chapter is kinda short but there really wasn't another good place to end it. and also please look down at the end notes for more info  
> also violence and death tw

“Hmm, it’s suitable for many places and multiple types of weather.” Puma says, examining my jacket. “Be prepared for a big arena, with lots of different environments.”

I’ve already said goodbye to everyone else. I repeat Challe’s advice over and over in my head.

_Stay away from the bloodbath. Don’t run towards the Cornucopia. Don’t fight anyone unless you have to. Don’t—_

“Five minutes until launch.” The robotic voice reminds us.

“Expect some cold conditions,” Puma tells me, talking quickly to get some last minute advice in before I leave“The jacket is a strong material so you shouldn’t have to worry about it ripping...”

My outfit consists of a black jacket that falls down to my mid thigh, light green cargo pants, a dark green t-shirt, knee high boots, a thick brown belt and a pair of thin, black gloves.

No makeup is left on my face to make me look presentable. My nail polish has disappeared and any trace of a pretty dress is long gone. I’m supposed to be a killer now.

“Two minutes until launch.”

Puma gives me a slightly sad smile and pulls me into a hug.

“I’ll see you in a couple weeks.” She whispers into my ear.

“Too bad you won’t be with me to make me look pretty during those weeks.” I say.

The feeling of the launching tube is very strange and weird, but I don’t any time to dwell on that.

The arena is huge and varied, just like Puma said it would be. To my right there’s a forest with giant, leafy trees. In front of me but far away is a snow capped mountain, which you have to cross or go around a river to get to. On my left is a valley that dips down below what I can see.Behind me is a field of wheat taller than myself.

What I’m on top of now is a large, pretty meadow with short green grass and colorful flowers. The Cornucopia stands tall in the middle of it all.

On either side of me I see the girl from Two, who fought to volunteer and Ivy, from Nine. We make eye contact and she nods at me. I give her a quick smile, hoping that she understands that I mean to stick with our agreement, and return to examining my surroundings.

I search the ground for supplies close to me. I see a bag of crackers not more than ten feet from me. Close to it is a water bottle. I remember what Challe said, about running away from the Cornucopia, but I might not get another chance for supplies, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. 

_Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

The gong goes off, and it’s the beginning of the Games. I don’t hesitate. I scoop up the crackers and water bottle in my arm. I spot a thin sleeping bag less than fifteen yards away. I sprint towards it and I almost stop completely when I hear the first canon go off.

I shove the crackers and water bottle into the sleeping bag and run for the forest.

Something slams into my back and knocks me onto the ground. A body.

My face hits the ground and feel blood somewhere. I pull myself out from under the body that was thrown at me. There’s knife in their back. I wrench it out right as another knife flies past my ear.

The girl jumps onto me before I can get up. She pins me down, a leg on either side of me.

I scream but I can’t get my arms out from me.

Then someone slams a sledgehammer into her head. In the brief seconds that see her face I recognize her. Maya.

I pick myself up and run.

I don’t stop running until I can’t hear the sounds of the bloodbath, expect for the canons, of course.

I let myself have a minute to breathe before I start up again. I sit down on the ground and look at my supplies.

I have an empty water bottle, crackers, a sleeping bag, and a bloody knife. The sleeping bag is black, which is a useful color for night.

I take my first good look at my surroundings in the forest. I recognize the trees as oaks, but they are unnaturally tall.

I switch between jogging and walking for the next three hours. When it finally begins to get dark I find myself a nice, leafy tree.

I unbuckle my belt and use it to secure myself to the tree. I’m thankful for the warmth of the sleeping bag. I force myself to stay awake until the Capitol anthem begins and the faces of the dead tributes will be projected into the sky.

Luckily, I dont have to wait long. It starts with a girl from One, a boy from Two, a girl and boy from Three, a girl and boy from Four, and it skips to a girl from Eight. All my district partners are alive. Then a boy from Nine flashes across the screen, a boy and girl from Ten, a boy and both girls from Eleven and both boys from Twelve.

14 dead, 34 left to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so unfortunately I won't be writing as much now simply because ive also taken u writing whump and there's a month long challenge im doing for it and also I haven't really gotten *that* much more time bc of corona so sorry  
> also my posting schedule might change so be prepared for chapters being posted late/early  
> also let me know if I got the math wrong about the dead tributes I wouldn't be surprised

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, here’s what you need to know: 
> 
> -I am already working on another chapter  
> -Each chapter will be about 1000-3000, but there will probably be some really long/short ones  
> -I will post a new chapter every two weeks on Tuesday  
> -I will update the tags as the chapters continue  
> -I will write in the authors notes if a chapter contains violence/sex/etc
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a comment and/or kudos!  
> If you see any vague/badly described/factually incorrect/typo/i randomly switch to future tense in a sentence/etc please let me know :)  
> If you enjoyed the story please leave kudos and/or a comment! I would really appreciate it! Thank you!!!! 😊  
> (Also I apologize, this chapter was kinda an info dump, I did that so people who haven’t read the hunger games would be able to read this without being totally confused)


End file.
